


I'll Follow You Into the Light

by fearless_beggar



Category: The Resident (TV 2018)
Genre: Bruises, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, and because I wish the show would deal more with Conrad's PTSD, please read the tags, rape mention, why did I write this? Because I love suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24227500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_beggar/pseuds/fearless_beggar
Summary: Conrad has a nightmare and accidentally hurts Nic
Relationships: Conrad Hawkins/Nicolette Nevin
Comments: 22
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: This fic depicts a person injuring their partner during a nightmare, a panic attack and a brief non-explicit discussion about rape

It was 3 am when Nic entered a dark and quiet house. She dropped her keys in the bowl by the door and yawned, quietly making her way upstairs to the bedroom. She was at the end of a double shift, and more than ready to crawl into bed and get some much needed sleep. She found Conrad on the bed and Nic smiled. The book open on his chest was evidence that he had tried to wait up for her. She gently slipped the book from his grip and laid it on the bedside table, drawing the covers over him and kissing his forehead. She changed into pyjamas and slipped into bed beside him. He stirred slightly as she curled up next to him. 

“Don’t wake up,” Nic murmured sleepily, “Stay asleep.” 

“No...” Conrad’s voice was barely a mumble but his arms tightened around her with a surprising strength for someone who was unconscious just a moment ago. 

“I'll be here in the morning,” Nic giggled, “I’m too exhausted for your nonsense right now, Conrad Hawkins.” 

“Get away, no... stop!” Conrad jerked, and Nic sat up in alarm. Conrad’s face was scrunched in pain, and he was grinding his teeth. He started thrashing more violently, grunting in imagined exertion as whatever horror he was reliving played across his eyelids. 

“Conrad,” Nic said, trying to wake him, “Conrad you’re having a nightmare, wake up.” It had been a while since Nic had seen him have a nightmare, and even longer since he’d had one this bad. She put one hand on his face and the other on his shoulder, shaking him gently.

“Conrad, wake up.” Suddenly his hand shot up, grasping her wrist and squeezing it hard. Nic gasped in pain, trying in vain to pry his fingers open with her free hand. 

“I won’t let you!” His grip on her tightened, feeling like he would crush her wrist. This wasn’t her Conrad, the Conrad she knew would die before he hurt her, yet his hold on her threatened to snap the bone. 

“Let go!” Nic was screaming now, clawing at his hand, slapping at his chest, his face, anything to get him to wake up, “Conrad you’re hurting me!” 

His eyes flew open, the warm brown eyes she loved were replaced by a stranger’s, dull and lifeless. Still asleep, Conrad caught her other arm in a vice grip.

“Son of a bitch,” Conrad snarled, his voice dripping with loathing, “I’ll kill you!” 

“Conrad stop!” Nic tried to pull her arms away, but he just held on tighter, “Wake UP!” 

Finally he did, his grip on her wrists slackened and Nic was able to yank her arms free, scrambling out of the bed and putting as much space between them as she could. Conrad was frantic for a moment looking around the room, not knowing where he was. He was breathing hard as his panic slowly abated. Nic crossed her arms in front of her chest as a sort of shield and stood shaking as Conrad finally focused in on his surroundings. 

“Nic?” Conrad noticed her and stood with a look of concern, “Are you alright?” He started around the bed towards her. Nic took a step back, her back hitting the wall behind her. She tried to speak, but the only sound was a choked sob as she tried to put as much distance between them as possible. She slid down the wall to the floor, bringing her knees to her chest. Conrad stopped, his look of concern was replaced with confusion, 

“Are you hurt? Nic.. Nic your arms.” Nic could barely hear him over the drumming in her ears. She was breathing hard, like she had just run a marathon. She looked down, her forearms were covered with angry red marks that would likely darken to bruises. Her hands were hard to see, she couldn’t tell if it was from the tears blurring her vision or because they were shaking too badly. Probably both. 

“Nic, you’re hyperventilating, try to breathe slowly,” Conrad went to his knees, getting on her level but keeping space between them, “Deep breaths in and out.” Despite everything his voice did help to calm her down. Slowly, with his coaxing, her breathing returned to normal and her heart rate slowed. When she finally met his eyes, she saw her Conrad, love and concern etched into every line on his face. She watched him frown and look at his own hand, noticing his own pain for the first time. One hand was bleeding from where she had clawed at his knuckles trying to loosen his grip. His expression turned from confusion to horror as he looked back at her and put the pieces together

“Oh my God,” Conrad fell back, his hand covered his mouth as realization swept over him like ice. He felt like he was going to be sick. 

“Conrad,” Nic finally spoke, “It was a nightmare.” She stood on shaky legs and started to move towards him but he scrambled to his feet. 

“Don’t! Don’t make excuses,” Conrad backed away, “I hurt you!”

“It was an accident,” Nic said, “You were asleep.”

“I don’t remember,” Conrad ran his hands through his hair, “I’m so sorry, Nic I- I don’t remember what I did.” He moved towards her, to hold her or check her wrists he didn’t know. He just needed to be close to her, to feel her and know she was real- that this was actually happening. 

Nic flinched away, she hadn’t meant to, she hadn’t even wanted to. Conrad’s face fell at her reaction and he turned away, disgusted with himself. 

“Conrad-” 

“I’ll go sleep on the couch,” His voice had that tone he did when he was pulling away from her and burying his emotions. They had made such progress; they couldn’t backtrack now. Nic wanted to go to him, to hold him and force him not to do this, not to shut her out. But her legs still wouldn’t move, she did nothing as he left the room and went down the stairs to the living room. 

Nic stood alone, trying to figure out what to do. It wasn’t like there was a handbook for these things: “What to Do When Your Fiance Has a PTSD Nightmare and Accidentally Almost Breaks Your Wrist.” Her left hand gave a particularly painful throb, Nic looked at it and flexed her fingers, grimacing at the immediate pain that shot to her elbow at the action. It could be sprained, or even broken. Nic knew she needed to have someone look at it. The sooner, the better, if it really was broken that would have a serious effect on whether she could do her job. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to get any sleep anyway, Nic changed from her sleep shorts into some leggings, intending to return to Chastain. Kit was on call, and assuming she wasn’t in surgery, Nic could ask her to take a look at the arm and trust her to be discreet. 

Conrad sat on the couch, his head in his hands. He looked up when he heard Nic coming down the stairs, taking in her change of clothes and the jacket she pulled around her shoulders. 

“Where are you going?” _When will you be back?_ The unspoken question hung in the air, Conrad was afraid of what her answer might be. 

“The hospital,” Nic said quietly, “My wrist.” A fresh wave of guilt fell over Conrad as he nodded. He looked away, too ashamed to meet her eyes.

“Do you need help? Can you drive?” 

“No I’m okay,” Nic said, “I’ll have Kit take a look at it, then I’ll be back.” Conrad didn’t answer. Nic wondered if she should say more.

_We can talk then_

_It’s not your fault_

_I love you_

She turned, and walked out the door. 

“Nic! I thought you left,” Jessica smiled at her from the nurses station. 

“I’m just about to, but I need to talk to Dr. Voss. Is she still in surgery?”

“Looks like she just got out,” Jessica checked the surgery schedule on her tablet, “If you’re quick you can probably catch her before she leaves.”

“Great, thanks,” Nic found an empty exam room in ortho, an easy task at 4:30 in the morning, and sent Kit a page. A few minutes later there was a knock at the door and a tired looking Kit Voss stepped inside.

“Nic? Where’s the patient?” 

“I’m the patient,” Nic pulled up her sleeves to reveal the bruises, “I think my left wrist might be sprained.” Kit gently held Nic’s arm, examining the wrist. Nic watched her take in the distinctly hand-shaped bruises. Unfortunately, Nic had seen many injuries like this over her career, and was sure Kit had too. 

“Who did this to you?” Kit might have assumed it was a psychotic patient, or maybe even a random assault. But one look at Nic’s face Kit new that wasn’t the case, “Nic, I hope you know that regardless of my fondness for Conrad, if you need help you can get it from me,” Kit rested her hand on Nic’s shoulder in a comforting manner, “We have services available and we can help.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Kit looked at her disbelievingly. Nic had given her own version of this speech to a hundred patients, she knew what she sounded like, “Conrad had a nightmare, he was asleep. You know Conrad, he would never hurt me.” 

“Has this happened before?” Kit prodded her wrist and Nic flinched at the pain.  
“He’s had nightmares, but never like this,” Nic said, “Usually I can wake him up, calm him down. That’s what I tried to do but obviously that was a bad idea.” 

“You don’t have to make excuses for him-”

“I’m not,” Nic interrupted, “We both have our issues, I’ve seen him react to things in ways that aren't healthy and I didn’t agree with. But he has _never_ laid his hands on me like that.”

“Where is he now?”

“At home, probably still torturing himself over this,” tears sprang into Nic’s eyes, a sort of floodgates had been opened and Nic found herself talking quickly, unloading the past 2 hours on Kit, “I want to comfort him but... I’ve seen him react violently before, but not with me, _never_ with me. In fact, the thing that seems to set him off is if someone is threatening me, or touching me in a way I don’t like. Like one time he went crazy when a guy groped me at 404 Tavern. But that wasn’t really about me that was about his own issues and he’s made so much progress since then. And tonight, when he hurt me, even though it wasn’t really him, it was...” Nic trailed off, fiddling with her engagement ring on her left hand. 

“Scary,” Kit supplied. 

“Yeah,” Nic let out a shaky breath, “It was scary. He's my safety; it feels like that’s gone now and I don’t know how I can get it back.”

“I can’t answer that for you, unfortunately,” Kit said, “But if I know anything about Conrad I know he’s better when he’s with you. I hope you will be able to come through this, but it's your decision. No one else's.”

“I would appreciate it if you kept this private, Conrad and I haven’t even had the chance to talk about it.”

“Nic, you’re an adult. Legally I can’t report anything without your consent,” Kit told her, “And I think I know Conrad rather well, it seems to me like he would rather die than let anything hurt you,” Kit sat on the stool to be eye level to Nic on the exam chair, “But this has to be a one time incident. X-ray will confirm it, but it seems to me only a sprain. You were lucky, but next time you may not be.” 

I know,” Nic gave her a small smile, “Thanks for letting me dump all this on you at 5am.” 

“It’s my job,” Kit gave Nic’s shoulder a squeeze, “Let’s get you fitted for a brace.” 

After X-Ray confirmed the sprain, Nic left the hospital with a brace on her left wrist and instructions to take it easy so as to not aggravate her injuries. She sighed as she entered the house. She was exhausted, with no sleep for over 24 hours her head was pounding. She found Conrad in the same spot she had left him and as much as she wanted to go to sleep and try to forget this ever happened, they needed to talk. 

“Are you okay?” Conrad’s voice was rough from crying, he didn’t look at her, staring instead at the cuts and scratches on his hands. 

“Just a sprain,” Nic responded, “Are your hands alright?”

“It’s fine,” Conrad said, “I deserve it.”

“Don’t say that,” Nic sighed. She took off her coat and laid it over the back of the couch, “You don’t deserve pain, Conrad.” She sat down and he automatically moved over, keeping several feet of room between them. 

“I hurt you.”

“You were asleep,” Nic said, “You didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I don’t even remember,” Conrad said, “I- I remember the nightmare but I don’t remember hurting you. I swear to God Nic, I don’t remember.”

“I know, I know,” Nic said, she made to interlace their fingers but he pulled away, folding his hands in front of his face. Nic sighed, “Do you want to talk about it?” She meant the nightmare, Conrad automatically shook his head.

“No.”

“Please Conrad,” Nic said, “Don’t push me away, talk to me. Let me help you.”

“I don’t need you to help me, I should be the one to-”

“It is abundantly clear you _do_ need help Conrad,” Nic said firmly, “I want to be there for you, but I can’t help fix what I don’t know.” For a while Conrad didn’t speak, but Nic made it clear she would wait all day if she had to.

“I was in Afghanistan,” Conrad finally spoke, directing his words to the floor, “Once, we were holding territory in a village with a militia of allied afghani soldiers. It was a pretty small village, most of the population were women and children, nothing special. One night I heard screaming from one of the village homes, my commanding officer told me to ignore it.”

“But you didn’t, did you?” Nic said softly. 

“No, I didn’t. The militia soldiers had gone into all the village homes and taken the young women, girls really, the ones they deemed most desirable. They had them all together and they-” Conrad dropped his head into his hands, “We were supposed to be the _good_ guys, the protectors. But who were we protecting that night?”

“That's what your nightmare was about?” Nic wiped a few stray tears that had fallen.

“Yes, but in my nightmare, it's not the girls from the village in that house,” Conrad’s voice broke, “It’s you. They’re touching you, hurting you, _raping_ you; and I’m always too far away to save you, no matter how fast I run or how much I fight I can’t get to you.” 

“Conrad,” Nic went to him, taking his face in her hands, he pulled away, “Conrad _look_ at me.” He finally did; his eyes glassy and exhausted and full of guilt, “I’m right here, I’m safe. Home with you. It was a dream, it wasn’t real. I’m real.” At her words Conrad melted into her touch and pulled her close, pressing his face into her neck. Sometimes he felt like she was his only tether to his sanity. Without her drawing him back down to earth he might be lost in his own mind. She was everything. Nic wrapped her arms around him, threading her fingers through his hair in soothing circles.

“The way you looked at me,” Conrad whispered into her hair, “I can’t stand to see you so afraid. Knowing I caused it makes me sick. I’m so sorry Nic” 

“I forgive you,” Nic kissed the side of his head, “I forgive you, okay?” 

Conrad pulled back, taking her face in his hands and leaning their foreheads together.

“If something ever happened to you-” His face got that tortured faraway look he gets and he closed his eyes.

“I’m fine Conrad,” Nic stroked his cheek, encouraging him to look at her “I’m here, stay here with me.” He opened his eyes, gazing deep into hers. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” His gaze fell to her lips, she could see the hesitation in his face. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, feel close to her, but he was afraid of scaring her away. Nic leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was chaste and Nic pulled back, stroking his hair from his forehead,

“Conrad, I’m going to be your wife,” She told him, “Do not be afraid to kiss me.”

He kissed her then, nothing chaste about it. He gripped her waist and pulled her closer until she was straddling his lap. Nic sighed into the kiss, tangling her fingers in his hair. Conrad gently pushed her back against the couch cushions, settling himself between her legs. He wanted to drown in her, lose himself in her touch and her moans and her body. His lips dove for her neck, his beard scraping deliciously against her as he sucked on the skin there. Nic ran her hands up his back, feeling his muscles flex underneath the skin. With great difficulty he pulled back to look her in the eye. Her pupils were blown, in the dim light her eyes looked black. She looked at him in question,

“What’s wrong?”

“Nic,” He was breathing hard, resisting the urge to kiss her again, “Maybe we shouldn’t.” It was too much and not enough at the same time. He was desperate to be with her, to hold her and feel her closeness and the overwhelming _realness_ that was Nic. But he was afraid of getting it wrong, that he could hurt her again and she would look at him like that with fear and pain in her eyes. Afraid that at any moment she would flinch away from his touch. 

“Conrad, please don’t pull away from me again,” sensing his mental spiral; Nic cupped his face, bringing his eyes to hers again, “Take me to bed.” 

The sun was rising, the first rays streamed through the curtains and illuminated flushed skin as Conrad laid Nic gently, so gently on the sheets. His lips followed the light in a scorching trail across her flesh. He joined their hands on the mattress on either side of her head, the unfamiliar texture of the brace on her left arm chafing against his skin. He kissed her deeply, pouring into the kiss all the emotion and love he could never find the words to articulate. Words came to him with difficulty; actions were easier. And kissing her- kissing her was like breathing. She was his religion; the sighs she made as his hands caressed her breast his hymn. Her moan when his mouth enveloped her nipple his gospel. The morning sun laid all bare, leaving no shadows to hide any secrets or insecurities. It was indescribably intimate, more so than sex itself. Nic felt a moment of hesitation, fear of vulnerability still grasping at her mind. But the tenderness reflected in his face and felt in his touch evaporated any lingering doubt. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Conrad kissed her stomach, running his hands down her sides and over her long legs, “Let me show you.”

As the dawn broke she looked like a Goddess; he knelt at the edge of the bed to worship her. 

Conrad’s lips left a trail of kisses up her inner thighs; Nic whimpered as his beard brushed the sensitive skin there. He stopped before his goal, his eyes never left hers and she shivered, feeling the cold as he exhaled over her heated sex. Nic whined, pushing her hips up, begging him to lower his mouth to where she wanted him. Never one to deny her, he brought his mouth to her center and pleasured her with the skill that only comes with regular practice and dedication to the craft. Nic’s head fell back, her eyes closing and her fingers tangling in the sheets at her sides. Her moans increased in pitch as Conrad zeroed in on her most sensitive spot. Her back bowed off the bed and her thighs tightened around his head. Her peak started low in her belly, then all at once spreading over her body like an electric current. Nic trembled as each of her nerve endings ignited in delicious pleasure. 

The sensations became too much; Nic used her good hand to clutch his face, raising his head away from her overstimulated body. He took her hand in his and turned to kiss her palm tenderly. He stopped, his hand sliding down to her wrist and the bruises there. Nic saw a fresh look of anguish cross his face and nudged him, encouraging his eyes to meet hers.

“Stay here with me,” Her voice was soft, still breathless from the pleasure of his mouth on her. She drew him up until their lips met, his body covering hers, “I’m here.” She breathed into the warm air mingling between their mouths. 

“I love you,” He kissed her desperately, “I’m going to love you until I die, and even after that. You are everything.” Tears sprang to Nic’s eyes at the raw emotion in his voice. 

“I love you too,” She brought her legs up to wrap around his waist, “God, I love you.” She kissed him deeply, wanting more. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Conrad whispered. 

“You won’t,” Nic held his face in her hands, “Please, Conrad, make love to me.” Conrad kissed her again and rested their foreheads together, slowly easing inside of her. He watched her carefully, searching for any signs of pain, his movements cautious and gentle. Nic raised her hips, encouraging him. He slid deep inside her and moaned at her warmth. He slid his hands under her to grip her shoulder blades and thrust again; Nic moaned loudly and he repeated the action. He wanted to drown in her, lose himself completely until there was only her, only Nic. He wanted only to have her scent filling his nose and her naked body in his arms and her cries of pleasure filling his ears. 

Face buried in the nape of her neck, he gasped her name against the shell of her ear like a prayer. Nic brought her arms around his shoulders, holding their bodies close, skin sliding against skin. Conrad craved her closeness, and this was as close as he could get; their chests touching, her warm breath against his neck as he moved inside of her.

He could stay here forever, lost in the cadence of their rhythm. It was almost unbearable, this love, but losing it seemed more unbearable still. 

Nic’s breath quickened in his ear and he knew she was close. He was struck with a mad desire to stop her, postpone her pleasure so he could hold this moment a little longer. But he never was able to deny her, never could and never would. He pulled back to watch her face and thrust strongly. Nic threw her head back, nearly screaming as her orgasm rammed into her all at once. Her body convulsed beneath him as Conrad, driven by the ecstasy on her face, followed her into bliss, emptying inside of her. He collapsed over her, his body and mind utterly clear. There was only her, breathing deeply beneath him as she too slowly came back into herself. 

They stayed like that for some time, each reluctant to move. Conrad traced a path of kisses along her jawline, Nic ran her nails gently up and down the divot of his spine. Eventually, Nic’s body protested his weight and she gently pushed him off her. Refusing to let her go he dragged her along and she settled on his chest, kissing the tattoo over his heart. He kissed the top of her head as she relaxed, her eyes falling shut. Conrad realized how exhausted she looked, she had dark circles under her eyes and redness framed her irises. Suddenly he felt guilty, he was the reason for her exhaustion. She worked too hard and too long and she deserved her sleep and it was his fault-

“I can hear your brain from here,” Nic murmured sleepily, “Please stop torturing yourself.” He rolled over, laying her on the bed next to him.

“I can’t stay,” Conrad said. He was on call, but he wasn’t talking about rounds. 

“So we’re never going to sleep in the same bed again?” Nic sighed.

“I’m going to call my friend at the VA today, get back into counseling,” Conrad put his hand over the brace on her left arm where it rested on his chest, “I’m not going to let this happen again.” 

“I know,” Nic yawned, unable to fight sleep for much longer, “Stay with me until I fall asleep?” It wouldn’t take long. Nic rolled over and Conrad drew her against his chest. Nic interlaced their fingers and brought his scraped knuckles to her lips. Soon, Conrad felt her relax in his arms and he knew she was asleep. Wishing he could stay in bed with her all day, Conrad carefully extricated himself from their bed and grabbed some clothes, closing the door softly behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years of unacknowledged trauma takes a toll on Nic and Conrad's relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes on this chapter:  
> 1.) Initially I was going to just write one more chapter to this story, but over the course of the last few months, I wrote wayyy more than I first intended, so I decided to split the chapter up in two. The good news it, the last part is mostly written and I should have it out quickly.  
> 2.) I am not a therapist, but I do hold a BS in Psychology and have an understanding of cognitive behavioral therapy and an ability to interpret the literature. That being said, I intentionally left the therapy bits brief because they were tedious to both read and write. This is obviously not an exhausted or even that accurate depiction of therapy; cut me some slack I'm a full time grad student and write this stuff in my free time.  
> 3.) TW: This chapter contains a brief depiction of a panic attack/traumatic flashback to a warzone. It's not overly graphic or violent but it is there

It was a long day. Well, every day seemed like a long day lately. Nic sighed, looking around her quiet house. Conrad was at a therapy session, so she had beaten him home and she did _not_ feel like cooking dinner. She didn’t particularly like cooking on good days, but today had been an especially crappy day. Most of the time, her patients were awesome, and she loved taking care of them. Other days it was a chore, and today they had ground on her last nerves. She still took excellent care of them, that was her job and she did it well. But not every day was the heartwarming and fulfilling career she had imagined when she set out to become a nurse.

“Screw this, we’re getting takeout,” Nic called Trina Taquerita and ordered their usual, changing out of her scrubs into sweatpants and one of Conrad’s t-shirts. She rummaged in the fridge for some wine, maybe they could turn the day around and still have a nice evening. 

“Nic?” Conrad called when he entered the house. 

“In here!” He found her in the kitchen, uncorking a bottle of white, “Hey, how was your day?” 

“It was fine,” Conrad didn’t elaborate. He looked tired. He always looked tired, his sessions were incredibly draining. Before, he probably would have kissed her, asked about her day and teased her for ordering takeout instead of cooking. Something about “sticking to a budget” and the obscene levels of sodium in takeout food. He _definitely_ would have noticed her wearing his clothes; now he just sits on the couch without a word. 

“How was your session? Nic tried, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” The word was becoming a reflex for him. He was five weeks into his sessions and he was more distant than when they had broken it off the first time. Nic considered the back of his head; he was just a few feet away from her, but he had never felt further away. She missed him; the younger, self-sabotaging, stubbornly independent Nic might have chastised herself for relying on another person so heavily when she should know better. She should _know_ that nothing is guaranteed, your mother can go to the doctor for routine screening and be dead a week later, leaving a thirteen year old the de facto head of the family. 

But the Nic who fell in love with Conrad Hawkins, who by loving him learned that relying on someone else is not weakness but strength, missed him desperately. She missed his familiar touch, the way he would reach for her hand or stroke her cheek like it was second nature, like his hand was made to hold her. Certainly, she missed how he would pull her into an on call room or his office at Chastain, his lips and hands insistent. How despite the lack of professionalism she would let him, and she would muffle her moans in the crook of his neck so her coworkers wouldn’t hear. But more than that she missed his unique brand of casual intimacy, the thousand ways he would tell her he loved her without _telling_ her he loved her. It was a language, the language of Conrad, that she had trialed to learn for the better part of four years until the deciphering of his every action became second nature to her. Without it, he didn't seem like Conrad, not her Conrad anyway. 

She missed his sweet smile and the way his eyes would disappear when he teased her. She missed the way he was always swaying, how he liked to pull her in close when she commented on it and she would roll her eyes but settle into him anyway. She missed the way his voice would deepen when he was being serious or lighten when he was joking. She missed _him._

The doorbell rang, bringing Nic back to the present. 

“That’s dinner, can you get some plates down?” Conrad stood to help her, Nic paid the delivery driver and they set out the food, “I have a patient. Chronic fatigue, GI issues, headaches, they’ve been in and out of the ER a couple times the past few months.” Work was pretty much the only thing she could get him to talk about. 

“Crohns? IBS?” Conrad suggested, laying out some plates and silverware on the island.

“Tests were negative,” Nic opened a cabinet for wine glasses, “I thought maybe a stomach ulcer but the EGD came back negative too.” 

“Maybe an allergy,” Conrad washed his hands in the sink, “Have you tested for Celiacs?”

“No, that’s a good idea,” Celiacs was notoriously difficult to diagnose. Nic turned to smile at him, accidentally knocking one of the glasses off the counter. It fell to the ground and shattered, “Oh shit, careful, don’t step on the glass.” Nic crouched down to carefully pick up the shards, “Too bad, this is a nice set of glasses. Maybe we should request plastic ones for the wedding, you know how Jess and Irving can be when they have a few drinks in them.” Conrad didn’t answer. Nic threw the glass in the trash bin, “Conrad? did you hear me?” Nic turned to look at him, her smile fading when she saw him standing over the sink, his hands clutching the edge so hard his knuckles were white. 

“Are you okay?” Nic put her hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles, “Hey, what’s wrong?” Conrad’s eyes were closed, his breathing erratic and his head bent.

He wasn’t in Atlanta, he was in Afghanistan, pumping desperately on the chest of an injured soldier. A window shattered above him, shards of glass fell over the ground like water. The air was thick with smoke and the _pop pop pop_ of machine guns overwhelmed his hearing. Conrad pumped harder; he was just a kid, a stupid kid who thought he was invincible or a hero or both. Dying on the ground of a bombed out city in a never ending war. 

Back in Atlanta, Nic put her hands on either side of his head, trying to bring his face to hers. Though his mind was elsewhere, his body recognized her touch; he leaned towards her slightly. Encouraged, Nic leaned her forehead against the side of his face, one hand stroking his cheek and the other hugging around his shoulders. She whispered soft words in his ear coaxing him out of his flashback and back to the present. She pressed her lips to the skin next to his ear, 

“You’re safe,” Nic repeated the words over and over again. Eventually Conrad’s grip on the sink slackened and Nic stepped between him and the counter to pull him in for a hug, “It's okay, I'm here. Stay here with me.” 

His body finally won out. The arms around him were Nic, the soft flowery smell of her perfume was Nic, the calm, soothing voice in his ear was Nic, and his body’s unconscious urge to be where Nic was trumped the memory of a violent warzone. Conrad came back into himself slowly, the tension eased from his muscles and left him trembling. A few tears leaked from his eyes and into Nic’s hair before he returned her embrace, bringing his arms around her. 

“Shh,” Nic cupped the back of his head, “It’s okay.” He stayed like that for a moment, holding her and letting her hold him, before he tensed and pulled away. He didn’t push her, but it felt like he did when he stepped back and her arms fell to her sides. 

“Why did you do that?” Conrad said angrily, “Do you think I’m going to these damn sessions and putting in all this work so that you can put yourself in danger again?” 

“What?” Nic stared at him, “What are you talking about?”

“I could have hurt you!” Conrad paced around the island, “I can’t do that again, Nic.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Nic said, “You were awake, you weren’t going to-”

“You have no idea!” Conrad yelled, “It’s like I’m back there and I have no idea what is happening around me. You don’t know what it’s like!”

“Well of course I don’t know, how can I?” Nic’s voice rose to meet his, “You _never_ tell me anything! You’ve barely spoken or looked at me in weeks. I don’t understand; why are you punishing me for helping you?”

“I’m trying to protect you!” Conrad stepped forward and gripped her arms. Not hard, just enough for her to see his urgency, “You have to promise me you won’t ever do that again, no matter what happens, if I have an episode you can’t intervene.”

“Let go of me,” He did immediately, Nic glared at him, “First of all, I don’t _have_ to do anything. And you’re being ridiculous, I won’t promise that. How long are you going to torture yourself for an accident before you let me help you?”

“I don’t want your help!” Conrad shouted, “Why can’t you understand that? I’m not Jessie, I don’t need you to take care of me!” As soon as the words left his mouth, Conrad wished he could take them back. Nic gave him a look like he had slapped her. 

“Fine,” She turned away from him, grabbing her keys off the counter, “You seem to have everything figured out, Conrad. I hate to be in the way.” 

“Wait Nic, I didn’t mean- where are you going?” 

“Away from here,” Nic grabbed her coat and walked out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

The setting sun cast an orange glow across the walls of Dr. Katy Fernandez’ office. Such accredited names such as Yale and Stanford shone in their frames while the glass bounced the light rays around the room. She leaned back in her chair, taking off her glasses and rubbing the bridge of her nose. Finally done with her notes for the day, Katy reflected on her last patient. Conrad had entered their sessions determined to put in the work, and she had been optimistic about his outcome; but his progress seemed to have stagnated. Therapy was full of mini breakthroughs rather than one “Aha” moment; setbacks were normal. But, she was starting to worry his avoidance tactics were too ingrained for him to make any real steps forward. 

Her phone chimed; Rachel asking when she would be home. She shot back an eta, assuring her wife she would pick up some pizza on her way to spare them all her cooking. She smiled at the screen when Rachel sent back a picture of Cameron, proudly sporting a grin with one less tooth than he’d had that morning. She hadn’t realized how late it was; working until 6pm on a Thursday should be criminal. She made a note to review Conrad's file first thing in the morning, perhaps even reaching out to one of her Stanford colleagues for a second opinion on her treatment plan, before locking up and heading to her car so she could go home to her family. 

“Joder es frio,” She whispered under her breath when she stepped out towards the parking lot. She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and dug in her purse for her car keys, not even noticing the other woman standing on the sidewalk. 

“Um, excuse me, Dr. Fernandez?” She looked up, surprised to see someone else in the lot. The building she worked out of was mostly doctor's offices, it emptied out completely in the evening, very few people staying after 5pm. 

“Can I help you?” The woman looked a little odd, she had a nice coat around her shoulders, but seemed to be wearing old sweatpants and a t-shirt. Strange attire for a Thursday evening. 

“Sorry, I recognize your picture from the VA website,” The women trailed off and bit her lip, “I’m just realizing I have absolutely no plan here.” Katy took in the woman in front of her. She was very pretty, despite the fact that she was wearing what appeared to be pyjamas, and the dark circles under her eyes. The other woman shifted uncomfortably, and Katy noticed a hospital ID badge from Chastain Park hanging from the pocket of her purse. 

“Miss. Nevin,” Katy said out loud, realizing who she was. 

Nic blinked in surprise, “How do you know?” 

“Your ID is on your bag,” Katy said, gesturing to the plastic card. 

“Oh,” Nic wrapped her arms around herself, half from cold and half from awkwardness, “I guess you know why I’m here then.”

“Not specifically, but I can imagine it has something to do with Conrad,” Katy said, “I’m sorry, Miss. Nevin, but I can’t discuss a patient’s sessions with you, as I am sure you can appreciate.” She _was_ a nurse, after all.

“Right, of course,” Nic tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “I just... I’m worried about him. We used to face problems together, but now it’s as if he’s cut me out entirely. I don’t understand, this is supposed to help, and you’re supposed to be one of the best.”

“I’ll try not to be offended by that,” Katy said with a smirk. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t come here to insult you,” Nic took a deep breath, she was really making a mess of this, “I’m not a psychologist, I don’t know how to do your job. But I _do_ know Conrad. I think I know him better than I know myself, and the way he’s been acting scares me.” Katy gave her a sympathetic look. 

“Miss Nevin-”

“Nic, please.”

“Nic, this is a difficult process. Every patient is different,” Katy adjusted her glasses, “I can’t discuss specifics, but it’s very clear to me that nearly everything Conrad does, he does for you. You have to give these things time.” 

Nic sighed, she wasn’t sure what her exact goals were in coming there, but she didn’t feel all that assured. 

“I know it’s not a satisfactory answer,” Katy smiled kindly, “But I’m sure in your line of work you’re familiar with such circumstances.” 

* * *

Nic avoided him all day at work. He suspected she’d slept at the hospital, or maybe Mina’s, but he couldn’t know for sure. It seemed every time he turned a corner he would see her duck into a patient room, a flash of blonde hair against her white coat. He’d thought about paging her a few times, but decided against it. She would come, he knew, because even if there was a slight chance of it being for a patient, she would come. However, she had made it clear she didn’t want to see him, so he tried to respect that, but it didn’t make it any easier. Devon had noticed his agitation and Nic’s telling absence, asking if he was alright. Conrad brushed him off with a glare and a mumbled “fine,” and Devon had dropped the issue. When he finally got to his session with Dr. Fernandez that afternoon, he was reaching the end of his patience. 

“I thought the whole point of this was to make me better,” Conrad let out a frustrated huff of air, “Not worse.” 

“Conrad, we’ve only been at this for a few weeks now,” Dr. Fernandez said. In contrast to Conrad’s agitation she sat comfortably in her usual chair, every so often making notes on her clipboard, “You have to give it more time. It’s hard work, we are essentially rewiring your brain to react differently to stimuli so triggers don’t send you into an episode. Did something happen?”

“Yes, Nic dropped a glass yesterday,” Conrad said. 

“Ok, let's break it down,” Dr. Fernandez said, “She broke the glass, what happened next?”

“It was loud, I felt panicked, like I was back in Afghanistan.”

“Be specific Conrad, was it just a feeling of fear or panic? Did it trigger a specific memory or flashback?”

“It was like a broken window,” Conrad said, “When you’re getting shot at and the windows shatter. My patient was dying, I couldn’t save him. The window above me shattered.”

“So the sound of the broken glass made you feel like you were in danger,” Dr. Fernandez prompted him, “And triggered a flashback of combat.” It was a familiar scene, one of the common ones Conrad chose to use for simulated immersion. Dr. Fernandez had hoped that he would have greater control over his trigger response after 5 weeks of sessions, but each patient progressed at their own rate. 

“Right. These flashbacks, they're _so_ real, I lose any awareness of where I am,” Conrad said, “I hate it, feeling like I don’t have control. I should be able to handle it, I need to control it.”

“Conrad we can’t always have control over everything,” Dr. Fernandez said, “That’s a fact of life, some things are out of our control and part of what we need to do is help you identify what you can and cannot control. Take yesterday, you cannot always control the environment around you. Nic dropping a glass isn’t something you could have prevented. What _can_ you control?”

“I can control my response to it,” Conrad said, “Or at least try to.”

“What are some things you can do?”

“Deep breathing exercises,” Conrad tried to remember some other things they had talked about. 

“That’s a good start,” Dr. Fernandez said, “Your brain has made a connection, breaking glass is a sign of danger and that triggers these feelings of panic and fear. But you weren’t in any danger, you were in your home.”

“How can I stop it? I don’t want to put Nic in danger of my lashing out again.”

“Conrad, _you_ also deserve to be free of these feelings,” Dr. Fernandez was always trying to steer the conversation away from Nic and keep Conrad's focus on himself, something he found incredibly difficult, “If you are only here because of other people, this is never going to work. You have to want to get better for yourself too.” 

“I know,” Conrad said, “I _do_ want that, I do.” 

“So when you feel these episodes coming, what are some strategies we discussed?” Dr Fernandez said, “You already said deep breathing, what else? You went to medical school, I know you can remember.” 

“Use my senses to stay grounded,” Conrad said, “Make a list of things I see, things I can touch. Eat something or smell something to remind myself of where I am.” 

“Good,” Dr. Fernandez said. She adjusted her glasses, “Let’s switch gears. I want to talk about Nic.”

“Really?” Conrad blinked, “You’re always telling me _not_ to talk about her.”

“That’s true,” Dr. Fernandez said, “But tell me, what did she do last night? You said she dropped the glass, how did she respond to you having an episode?” 

“She comforted me, tried to help me calm down,” Conrad wrung his hands, “It was stupid, I know. She shouldn’t have done that. I need to handle this myself, she can’t put herself in danger.” Dr. Fernandez gave him an odd look. 

“Oh, sorry,” She put her clipboard down, “I didn’t realize you were a psychologist. Where did you study? Because I went to Stanford. You know, in California? Supposed to be a good school.”

“What?” Conrad asked in confusion. 

“You seem to have all the answers. For such a smart guy, you can be a real idiot,” Dr. Fernandez said. Conrad stared at her in shock, his mouth falling open, “If you have two patients with the same cancer, comparable demographics and the same treatment plan, the only difference being one has a good support system and the other is all alone, which do you think will have a better outcome?”

“The patient with the support system,” Conrad answered.

“Right, it's the exact same thing here Conrad,” Dr. Fernandez said, “Patients with a support system do better, it’s a well-studied phenomenon. So why are you alienating yourself from yours?” 

“She’s been through a lot, I don’t want to hurt her more,” Conrad said, “She’s the whole reason I’m here. She’s the whole reason I do anything, really.”

“That’s quite a lot of pressure to put on one person, don’t you think?” Conrad didn’t answer, letting that sink in. Dr. Fernandez leaned forward, “Conrad, don’t do this _for_ Nic, do it _with_ Nic.” 

Conrad said nothing for a few moments, digesting her words, “I can’t believe you called me an idiot.”

“Well, you were acting like one,” Dr. Fernandez leaned back again and retrieved her clipboard, “How long have the two of you been together?”

“About 4 years, on and off,” Conrad replied, “We got engaged a few months ago.”

“On and off?” 

“We broke up for a while,” Conrad said, “Nic had a miscarriage and we ended things not long after that. Then again when her sister got sick, just for a little while, though.”

“Nic had a miscarriage?” Dr. Fernandez asked, “How has that affected you?” Conrad frowned, he hadn’t really thought about it in a long time. 

“It was hard at the time, but we moved past it,” He said. He looked down and fiddled with the ring on his index finger, he didn’t want to talk about it, “I thought we were here to talk about Afghanistan?” 

“Conrad, don’t avoid a topic because the emotions are difficult for you,” Dr. Fernandez said, “How did it affect Nic?” 

“I don’t know,” Conrad said, “We ended things and then we got back together months later, and I didn’t want to bring up that pain again. Things were really good-” 

“Until they weren’t, and now we're here,” Dr. Fernandez said, “The thing with the bad stuff Conrad, is that it doesn’t go away just because you pretend it isn’t there. Pain doesn’t play by our rules. The only way to really move forward is to let yourself feel them, understand them, and move on.” 

“I’m not sure I know how to do that,” Conrad said. 

“That's okay. That’s what I’m here for, and that’s also what Nic is there for,” Dr. Fernandez said, “You aren’t a burden, Conrad. The people that love you _want_ to help you.”

“So is that it? You love me?” Conrad gave her a cheeky grin. 

“Well no,” Dr. Fernandez rolled her eyes at him, “You’re not my type, I don’t think my wife would approve. I’m just here for the money.” They laughed for a moment, before Dr. Fernandez grew serious again,

“You want a future with Nic, yes?” She asked, “Marriage, family, a white picket fence, all that?”

“Yes,” Conrad said, “When I picture my future, there’s no version of it that exists without Nic.” 

“Then _feel_ your pain, and face it properly,” Dr. Fernandez said, “Pain, trauma, it’s cyclical. You need to break that cycle. Do it for Nic, do it for the children you will have in the future. And Conrad, do it for yourself too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I left it where they aren't in a very good place :( but struggles are all part of a realistic relationship. Do know, I am a sucker for a happy ending (or at least a hopeful one).  
> Dr. Fernandez is named for the best professor I ever had.  
> "Joder es frio" = "Fuck, it's cold"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some healthy COMMUNICATION god damnit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My take on the miscarriage talk, among other things. I’m not the first to tackle it, I won’t be the last.  
> TWs for this chapter: discussion of a miscarriage/loss of pregnancy, brief suicide mention and again a brief non-explicit description of war  
> ALSO, this chapter is nsfw, as a treat

“You’re home,” Conrad stood at the entrance to the kitchen and let out a sigh of relief, he’d half expected her to stay at Mina’s another night. Nic doesn’t respond, though he knew she heard him. She’s cleaning, something she does when she’s agitated, “You’re still wearing your ring.” Nic’s movements stalled. 

“Am I supposed to take it off?” She said with barely contained anger, “That’s it then? One fight and we call it in?”

“No, of course not. Last night shouldn’t have happened,” Conrad began, taking a cautious step into the room. 

“Really?” Nic threw the dish towel on the counter, “This is still _my_ fault?”

“No!” Conrad said, “That’s not what I meant. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I know you were just trying to help, I didn’t mean what I said about Jessie. I’m sorry.” 

“I really don’t know how much longer I can do this, Conrad,” Nic turned away again, “It’s like I’m a stranger in my own home.” 

“I want to fix that,” Conrad said, “I don’t want to fight. Please, can we talk?” Nic doesn’t answer, because the truth is, she _does_ want to fight. Fighting was better than silence, and a nasty, vengeful part of her wanted to punish him for pushing her away and hurting her so badly. Because it’s easier to hurt him back than it is to admit that she loves him so much she doesn’t think she can live without him; that the thought of having to find out if she can terrifies her. 

Conrad takes her silence as a yes (or more a lack of a no), “I don’t want to upset you, but I want you to tell me about something.” Nic gives him a noncommittal shrug, upset was sort of the baseline these days. 

“Just say it, Conrad,” She said. 

“I want to talk about the miscarriage.” Of all the things she might have expected him to say, that was the _last_ thing she thought would come out of his mouth. 

“Why are you asking me about that?” Nic moved past him towards the living room, as if putting space between them could take back the question, “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Nic we’ve never discussed it,” Conrad said, “I just- I _never_ asked you. This thing happened to you and I just pushed it away. That was selfish and I’m sorry. I always do that, Dr. Fernandez says I push away difficult emotions so I don’t have to face them. I need to change that.” 

“What would you have me say?” Nic said, eyes growing misty as uncomfortable memories flooded her mind, “It was something that happened. No sense in bringing it up now.” She sat on the couch, tucking her legs underneath her and trying to take up as little space as possible, another habit she had when she was upset.

“You don’t think it’s worth talking about?” Conrad sat on the other side of the couch, “We could have had a baby.”

Unconsciously Nic played with the hem of her shirt, just over her belly, “But we didn't,” Nic deflected, “It’s over and done with.” 

“Really? Because your hands are on your stomach,” Conrad said, “A miscarriage is a painful thing, it’s perfectly normal to feel upset over it.”

Nic glared at him, moving her hands from her abdomen, “Spare me the lecture Conrad. I’m acutely aware of how painful it can be. It hurt for _weeks_ , but no one talks about that. Long after it was socially acceptable to lay on the couch all day I could still feel that pain, physically, in my body,” Nic wiped at her eyes before her traitorous tears fell, “ _I_ lost our baby. He was inside of me, and I lost him before I even had a chance to acknowledge he was there.”

“Nic-” 

“One in four pregnancies end in a miscarriage,” Nic steamrolled over him, speaking as much to herself as to Conrad, “One in _four_. I didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t my fault.” Say it enough times, she can convince herself it's true. 

“Whoa, Nic, I don’t blame you. It wasn’t your fault,” Conrad told her, “That’s not what this is about.” He reaches out experimentally, encouraged when she doesn’t pull away. Her hands are fisted in her lap, nervously picking at her nails. He put his own over them, interrupting her fidgeting. She looks down, interlacing their fingers and rubbing her thumb over his ring soothingly. 

“I don’t like to think about it,” Nic said softly. New Years was forever tainted, along with Thanksgiving. What sour luck; Nic wondered if she would be allowed any holidays to enjoy. 

“Neither do I,” Conrad admitted, “But I think we need to.”

“Six weeks,” Nic said, after a moment, “That's how far along the doctor said I was.”

“I remember,” Conrad remembered every detail of that horrible day, starting when Nic had woken him up in the early hours of the morning with a panicked expression and blood pooling on the sheets, “It was so early, we didn’t even know.”

“I did,” Nic kept her focus on their hands, “I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I knew. Deep down I knew.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I was sick, and tired,” Nic said, “I told myself it was just a cold; didn’t let myself think about how long it had been since my last period. I guess a part of me thought if I ignored it it would go away,” Nic wiped a tear from her cheek, “Turns out that’s exactly what happened.” 

“You know that’s not true, right?” Conrad squeezed her hand, “Nothing you did, or didn’t do, caused the miscarriage. It just happened,” He reached towards her with his free hand, holding her cheek to raise her head and look her in the eye, “It wasn’t your fault.” 

“I had a dream, after we ended things,” Nic said, “It was a boy. He looked so much like you.” Nic smiled sadly and stroked his face, imagining his features on the son they never had, “His eyes were green, like Jessie’s. He was so beautiful. I know it’s not real but it’s how I picture it, what might have been.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Conrad swallowed, wracked with guilt at the revelation of how deeply this had affected her. He had pushed it away entirely, locking it in a box with no intention of opening it again. 

“It had seemed so real, then when I woke up it was like losing him all over again, I didn’t want to feel it anymore,” Nic said, “But he was there Conrad, maybe not for long and he might not have even been a he but he was there. He was a part of me.” 

“I know he was,” Conrad replied. He shifts closer to her, pulling her close for a hug, “I’m so sorry, Nic. I should have been there for you.” She held him back tightly, God, she’d missed him. She turns her face into his neck, breathing in his familiar scent, reveling in his nearness, unwilling or unable to draw away.

“I would have done anything,” Conrad said suddenly, “Back then, you asked me what I would have wanted to do. I would have done anything for you. I still would.”

“I’m not pregnant,” Nic assured him, that was the last thing they needed right now. She pulled back and wiped at her eyes. 

“I know,” Conrad chuckled despite the sobriety of their conversation, “But one day you will be and I’ll be there with you through everything.” 

“You know that’s true for you too, right?” Nic said, “I know you want to spare me from whatever battle you’re fighting, but I can handle it.”

“Nic-” Conrad warned. 

“You can make assurances about children that don’t even exist yet, the least I can do is help you face what is hurting you _right now,_ ” Nic brought a hand to his face, her thumb stroking across his cheek, “I love you. I’m here. You don’t have to do this alone.” 

“Nic,” Conrad put his hand over hers, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Seeing you in pain hurts me,” Nic drew herself up, pulling him closer, relieved when his hands wrapped around her waist rather than push her away, as if he was even capable of such an action, “I’m here to help, that should be a relief.” 

She used his own words against him, she’s always been too smart for her own good.

“Conrad, if it were me, you would want to help, you would go crazy if you couldn’t,” Nic continued, “When Jessie was sick and after she died you were the only thing that kept my feet on the ground. Seeing you like this scares me; you always carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, what if it’s too much? My dad almost killed himself, what if I can’t get to you on time?” Nic gripped the front of his shirt, “I lost my mom, I lost Jessie, I lost the baby. I _can’t_ lose you.”

“Nic, that won’t happen,” He cupped the side of her neck gently, rubbing his thumb over the skin below her ear, Nic closed her eyes at the action, leaning into his touch, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Then prove it to me. _Please,_ let me be there for you.” She was right, he knew. He was quiet for a long time. Nic kissed his temple, resting her forehead against his. Now that she had him here, actually talking to her, she wasn’t likely to let go any time soon. 

“I have another session with Dr. Fernandez on Monday,” Conrad said, “If you want to come.”

“Yes,” Nic said, “I’ll be there.”

“I want you to be sure,” Conrad said seriously, “It will be hard to hear-“

“I take this man, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish” Nic kissed his cheek, “in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer,” his other cheek, “In good times and bad,” her lips hovered over his, “as long as we both shall live.” Nic took his hand, holding it between them, “if I can’t live those vows now, I have no business saying them in a few months. I have no right to wear this ring. Do you want me to take it off, Conrad?” 

“No,” He took her face in his hands and kissed her, deeply, “I never want to see you without it.” He pulled her closer so she was straddling his hips.

“Then let me love you,” Nic put her hands over his, lowering them down, she wanted to show him; she _needed_ to show him.

Her hands travel across his face, his neck, his chest, her lips not far behind. Conrad grips her waist, trying to let her love on him without guiding the action as he normally would. It’s difficult, when she slips her hands under his shirt to pull it over his head, not to return the favor and free the buttons of her flannel. Her name is halfway up his throat when she halts it with a heated kiss. 

“Shhh,” Nic whispers, she trails her fingers down his chest until they reach his belt, “Stop thinking.” She pulls his belt loose and slips her hand down the front of his jeans. Conrad groans, his fingers digging into her sides as her hand strokes him through his boxers. He feels Nic smirk against his neck, pleased with the effect she has on him. His body shares none of his hesitation, responding instantly to her touch. Each cell in him seemed to burn with need for her, thrumming like a live wire after having missed her for so long. Nic slips down his body to kneel on the floor and Conrad almost loses it right there, Nic’s dark eyes meet his in a heated gaze. She moves deliberately, precisely, making note of his every reaction as her hands leave a blazing trail over his skin. 

“Are you okay?” Nic works his pants down and Conrad kicks them off, leaving him in just his boxers, his length straining against the fabric, begging for her touch. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Conrad’s voice was low. He tangles his fingers in her hair but resists the urge to pull her where he wanted her. Nic’s hands stroke up and down his thighs, enjoying watching him squirm; usually she was at the mercy of his teasing. 

Finally, she pulls down the elastic and grasps his length, pumping a few times before lowering her mouth to him. She works him up quickly with her fingers and tongue. 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” His head falls back against the couch, Nic watches him through her eyelashes. He isn’t going to last long. Her teasing and natural talent at pretty much anything she does, coupled with the fact that he hasn’t felt her touch in weeks mean his stamina is at an all-time low. He grips her hair and pulls harshly. His breathing grows more and more erratic and his hips thrust up as he careens towards his release. Nic moans in response, the vibrations finally sending him into that bliss. He closes his eyes and comes hard, his grip on her tightening and a string of expletives falling from his lips. Nic continues her attention until his hold slackens and she feels his body relax. She pulls back, standing to sit across his hips again. She strokes his face, placing gentle kisses on his neck and jaw until he comes back to earth from whatever heaven she had sent him to. Eventually he opens his eyes and looks at her, she smiles sweetly at him, as if she hadn’t just given him the best blowjob of his life. 

“Jesus,” Conrad brings his hands to her face, brushing her hair back. It’s thoroughly disheveled from his previous grip on her, he hums at the thought of tangling his fingers in it again, “You are amazing.” Nic smiles into his kiss before shifting back, moving to climb off him. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Conrad tugs her into his chest, leaning forward to place open mouthed kisses along her neck, “I’m not done with you yet.” 

“Conrad, this is supposed to be about you-oh,” she doesn’t sound all that convincing, what with the breathy moan that slips past her lips when his teeth nibble over her pulse point. 

“Oh it is,” Conrad’s fingers find the buttons of her flannel. It’s her favorite, he knows, and as a considerate man he undoes it carefully instead of just ripping the damn thing off her like he wants to, “It’s my turn now.” His voice is that deep, gravely sound and he looks at her darkly, like a predator stalking its prey. Nic shivers at the unspoken promise in his words. 

Holy _shit_. 

Conrad pushes the shirt from her shoulders, tossing the garment aside and running his hands over her skin as he kisses her, hard. Nic pushes herself against him, pressing her torso against his and running her hands over the expanse of his back. Conrad reaches behind her and unclips her bra, pulling back to rip it from her chest and throw it who knows where. He wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her harshly against him, Nic moans at the friction between her thighs. Conrad grips her hair once more and tugs, pulling her head back to give him better access to her neck and chest. His mouth wraps around her nipple, and she arches into him and whimpers, her nails clawing down his back. He lavishes attention to her other breast, one hand sliding between their bodies to unhook the button of her jeans, pulling down the zipper and slipping his hand between her thighs. 

“Fuck Nic,” Conrad groans when he feels her wet heat, “You’re so fucking wet for me baby.” He releases her hair so he can look at her face as he probes her slick folds. Her blond hair is a mess, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen; she looks ravishing. His deft fingers find her clit and he circles it gently, his other hand cups her breast. Nic groans and rocks her hips, wanting him to increase his pressure and feel his fingers inside of her. 

“Please,” Nic bites her lip to stifle her unbidden moans when Conrad presses down on the bundle of nerves. 

“None of that,” Conrad’s hand slips up her neck to her jaw, his thumb pulling her lip down from her teeth. He pulls his hand back from her core and Nic whimpers at the loss of contact, “I want to hear you.” 

“Please touch me,” Nic mewles, pressing herself against his hand, “I need to come.”

“Hmm, I know what you need baby,” Conrad thrusts two fingers inside of her, making her cry out and dig her fingernails into his shoulder. He sucks at the skin of her neck and collarbone, leaving red marks. His thumb rubs her clit and Nic feels her peak approaching, spreading white hot through her veins. He feels her walls fluttering around his fingers and pushes harder, forcing her over that edge into an incomprehensible slew of cries, her back arching against him and her fingernails leaving red crescent shapes on his skin. 

He rubs her through it, circling her clit until the pleasure gives way to pain and she has to grab his wrist to cease his movements. She collapses against his chest, reeling with aftershocks from her orgasm. Conrad releases her hair, running his hand up and down her back until she gains some semblance of control over her limbs again. Eventually she brings her arms around him, turning to press her face into his neck. 

“Wow,” She isn’t capable of more sophisticated vocabulary at the moment. 

“Mmm,” Conrad licks her wetness from his fingers, Nic watches him through heavy laden eyes, “You taste so good.” He smirks at her, looking damn proud of himself and the state she’s in. 

_Holy shit_

Nic pulls him down and kisses him deeply, tasting herself on his tongue; her need for him surpassing her need for oxygen. She stands on shaky legs, holding his gaze as she slips her jeans and ruined panties down her legs. She reaches for him, hooking her fingers under the waistband of his boxers and sliding them down his legs. He lifts his hips to help her and kicks them all the way off before wrapping his arms around her middle and kissing the skin of her stomach sweetly. Nic runs her fingers through his hair, cradling his head in her hands. 

“I want to taste you,” Conrad kisses lower, below her navel. 

“No,” Nic straddles his lap again, bringing his mouth to hers, “I need you, Now.” Conrad does not share in her urgency. He traces a path slowly across her jaw, down her neck below her ear, nipping at her skin with his teeth, Nic pulls at his hair insistently, tired of his teasing. Conrad chuckles against her neck, sending reverberations down her spine. 

“So impatient,” Conrad pulls back, grips her hips to guide her entrance to his tip, groaning when he makes contact with her folds. He lowers her down, painfully slow, until their hips meet, Nic moans at the feeling, “Fuck, Nic. Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“Show me,” Nic holds his upper arms, reminding her body how it feels to be full of him. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Conrad holds her gently, trying to stay in control of himself. 

“Conrad, I am not going to break,” She loves him, but she doesn’t want sweet, she doesn't want slow. She wants him to make her forget the five weeks he spent pushing her away. He can lose himself in her, she will be there to find him again. She meets his eyes, two smouldering pools of amber, “Fuck me like I’m yours. And don’t ever let me forget again.” 

Conrad’s gaze turns feral and he surges forward, flipping them over so Nic lays on the couch cushions beneath him. He holds her wrists above her head and thrusts into her, hard and deep. Nic lets out a heady moan, her back arching off the couch. Conrad captures her mouth in a bruising kiss, biting her lower lip between his teeth. He’s everywhere; he rams inside her, his hands hold her wrists down when the muscles of her arms flex against them. His lips trace down her sternum and over her breast, rolling her nipple into his mouth and sucking. 

“Oh God, Conrad,” Nic grits her teeth. Conrad groans at the sound of his name, pushing into her harder, setting a brutal pace. Her hands clench into fists, her nails digging into her own palms and her toes curling as every muscle in her body tenses. Conrad kisses her chest lasciviously, his beard scraping her sensitive skin and making her whimper. He pulls back so he can watch her face, practically growling at the sight of her. Her head thrown back, eyes screwed shut and her skin shining with a thin layer of perspiration. They are somewhere else entirely; not Atlanta and not Afghanistan. He doesn’t know where, and he doesn’t care. All that matters is that she is there with him. 

“Look at me,” Conrad begs her between cries that answer each of his thrusts. He balances on the edge of reality, he needs her eyes to keep him here, in the place where she is. She does, opening them with difficulty, and watches him above her. Her dark brown eyes are cloudy with pleasure but still he is struck with the sure knowledge that she _sees_ him; she sees him like no one he has ever known. 

And she is here, this brilliant woman. Here and beautiful and his, and he is hers. 

Nic strains against his hold on her wrists; she wants to touch him, to feel his skin beneath her hands like an anchor. He grants her request and her hands travel over slick flesh, nails scraping shoulder blades and fingers tangling in his hair to pull him to her for a searing kiss. 

Conrad slips a hand between their bodies where they are joined, finding her clit and feeling her whole body spasm when he pushes down. She makes a sound, a bastard cross between his name and an obscenity, and Conrad grasps at her hips and pushes hard. 

Her peak is incendiary, burning through each cell in her body and obliterating all her senses until there is nothing but him. Nic bows off the couch and screams, his name on the forefront of the litany of unintelligible syllables that fall from her lips. Her vision blurs and she squeezes her eyes shut, stars dancing behind her eyelids. She is still shuddering with pleasure when Conrad spills inside of her; his own release rendering him boneless and he collapses on top of her, his head on her chest. They both breathe heavily as they strive to remember the mechanism by which to fill their lungs with air. Conrad can hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears, or maybe it’s hers. He can’t tell anymore; they are a tangle of bodies, still joined, unclear where his ends and hers begins. 

Conrad recovers first, but it is still several minutes before he is able to lift his head from her chest, shifting slightly to place lazy kisses on her collarbone, gently bringing her back to the material plane. 

“I love you,” He breathes in, the intoxicating mix of her perfume and the musky scent of sex causing him to sigh and press his lips to her neck. Her body is as familiar to him as his own, but he still finds himself awed by her. He admires the way her flushed skin expands with each breath she takes, her ribs visible at the height of her inhale. Love marks dot her breasts and neck and the sight of them, coupled with the serene look on her beautiful face, give him a virile satisfaction knowing he is the one responsible.

She opens her eyes and catches him staring. There’s not an ounce of self-consciousness on her face when she smiles at him, reaching to draw him up. He takes her hand, placing a few kisses along her arm before settling into her embrace. He kisses her slowly, all their prior urgency evaporated; passion replaced with tender sweetness and loving caresses. He backs away slightly, intending to switch their positions. 

“Not yet,” Nic’s voice is hoarse, she pulls him back against her, threading her fingers in his hair and feeling his pleasant weight press her into the cushions, “I missed you so much.” He settles back over her, nuzzling into the space between her neck and shoulder, and he feels like her Conrad again; she knows that means “ _I love you._ ” 

“I'm sorry,” He rests his forearms on either side of her head, stroking her hair, “I was so afraid of hurting you again I pushed you away and made everything worse.” He kisses her cheek, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me; I’m sorry that for even a moment I let you forget that.” Nic marvels at a man who can make her scream with pleasure, then turn around and make her heart swell with his gentleness. 

“I love you too,” Nic said, “Just make sure you don’t have to remind me again, as amazing as that was.” He gives her a sweet smile and pulls out of her so he can lay on his side next to her instead of on top. Nic winces slightly at the action, the ache a souvenir from some of the best sex of her life.

“Are you alright?” Conrad makes note of her expression, “I was too rough, I hurt you.” He looks momentarily disgusted with himself until Nic shakes her head, drawing him closer to her.

“I literally ordered you,” Nic assures him, “Did you hear me complaining? It’s a good sore.” She rests her cheek against his chest, her fingers tracing the tattoo over his heart. His arms wrap around her, one under her neck to cradle her back of her head, and other trailing up and down her back. He presses his lips against her temple; his voice is low in her ear when he begins to speak. 

“The Battle of Sangin is the bloodiest battle in the Afghanistan war, I did two tours there. It wasn’t just the Taliban, even the locals were against us. Every day someone died, right in front of me. Stepped on an IED and dead in a moment, there was nothing I could do. I-I tried, I did everything I could, but-” Conrad’s voice catches and he stops, tensing. Nic presses her lips to the base of his neck, her fingers drawing soothing circles against his skin. 

“You’re safe,” Nic says softly, “Stay here with me.” Her touch grounds him; he swallows, determined to finish what he wants to say. 

“Towards the end of my second tour, an IED blew up my humvee; ripped the whole thing apart. I was the only one who survived. I’ll never understand why I got to come home with only knee surgery, when my buddy with a wife and two kids didn’t. Why do I get to be here with you, when so many of my brothers never saw their families again?” Conrad kisses her forehead, “I had to find some purpose, some reason for coming back. It’s why I went to medical school. I thought I made it back so I could save lives. Dr. Fernandez says there’s no greater meaning, things just happen because they do, not because of what’s fair or just. I don’t have to fix or control everything in order to deserve to be here, or at least that's what I’m trying to convince myself.” Nic lifts her head to look at him, her finger’s trace his face, soothing the worry lines that had set in around his eyes. She holds his cheek and kisses him softly. 

“Thank you,” Nic whispers. 

“For what?” Conrad rests his forehead against hers. 

“For telling me. For everything,” Nic answers, “For surviving, for coming back, for all the choices you made that led you here. I’ll never fully understand what you went through over there, but I think Dr. Fernandez is right. You don’t have to live in the debt of those who were lost. You don’t owe the universe anything; if you ever did, you can consider it paid.” 

Conrad kisses her gently, Nic holds him impossibly closer. It isn’t long before they are lost in each other again, this time with tender, unhurried passion. They will talk more later, Conrad will continue to feel guilty, maybe for the rest of his life. But Nic is grateful. Selfishly, overwhelmingly grateful that he made it home and he is here and he is hers. She can be grateful enough for the both of them. 

The next morning Conrad wakes up in their bed with Nic in his arms, having slept soundly for the first time in weeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came out dirtier than I was planning, but blame quarantine. If you want to read tender lovey dovey sex go read the first chapter lol  
> Thank you for reading this story, I had a great time writing it. I currently don’t have plans to continue but never say never. If an idea strikes I may pick it up again.  
> Please let me know what you think! Comments make my whole day


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